


busan waits in the rain for us

by kamsangi



Series: mixtapes from a while ago [1]
Category: SECHSKIES (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attachment Issues, Character Study, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, M/M, Mild Freudian Elements, Moving On, No Graphic Content, Nostalgia, Parent Death, Post-Loss, Psychoanalysis, Relationship Study, Road Trips, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-24 05:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamsangi/pseuds/kamsangi
Summary: I was here. Just passing through. Just passing by.Lee Jaejin chases shadows for ten years, but the slowly-dawning sun finally catches him by the wrist, and coaxes him back into the light of day.





	busan waits in the rain for us

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little ridiculous how I'd just wanted to write a little fluffy drabble as my first Sechskies fic, and ended up churning out this character study instead. No regrets, though. 
> 
> This builds off incidents that have happened in real life, though **none of these descriptions are claiming to be the actual events, nor is any of the information presented here claiming to be 100% actual fact. They were merely inspired by said incidents.** There are also **mature themes** in this (but there are no graphic descriptions of violence or graphic sexual content).
> 
> I wanted to write something that would deal with the effects of bereavement on adult children, major attachment issues, and dealing with unexpected attraction while at the same time dealing with the fallout from not properly moving on from loss. I'm honestly no psychology expert at all; I'd just wanted to write this as a way to deal with my own demons, and as an experiment in introspection and confusing feelings.
> 
> So. **Please do heed the tags!** And this really is like, super slow build, by the way.
> 
> (Also, I love Jaejin and I wish him all the happiness in life always. ♡♡♡)

 

 

 _‘Being happy first requires you to **be**.’_  
—Daniel Armand Lee.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He doesn’t run away.

There’s a difference. What he’s doing—it’s not running away. It’s _not._ Running away implies that there’s something to run from, something to avoid, to escape from the reaches of. Something to get far, _far_ away from. There’s nothing coming after him. There’s no one—nobody looking for him.

The thing is, _he’s_ the one who’s looking for something.

So, he just doesn’t go back. That’s all.

He does _not_ run away.

The old train shudders and rumbles under the weight of its load. It’s late in the afternoon. Most of its passengers doze under the light of the slowly dimming sun. Jaejin presses a thumb to the dirty window and smudges a fingerprint into the glass, before wiping it away. _I was here,_ it says. _Just passing through. Just passing by._

He hadn’t bothered to rent a car, even though he’d have preferred driving miles over sitting in this uncomfortable seat with all these other people around him. He still doesn’t know how long this will take. He can’t put a number to the amount of time he needs. Hours, maybe. Days, even. Weeks?

All he knows is that he needs this—needs it like he’s starved for air, and the only place he can learn to breathe again is: home.

 _Home,_ he thinks absently, and he draws on the glass again, this time a little face. Little eyes, and a little down-turned mouth. _I’m here,_ it says. _Where am I going?_

He erases that from sight too, a moment later, with another rub of his thumb over the windowpane. That won’t do. That won’t do at all.

It’s another half an hour out from Dong-gu, and then forty minute’s bus to Gamcheon-dong. Almost there, then. He can already feel the sun on his face, the taste of salt on his tongue. Busan welcomes him home, a winter child in the midst of summer.

But it feels stale. The thought of the sun, the skies, the bright summer warmth—it doesn’t fill his chest the way it usually would.

And, why would it?

Not after—not after all that’s happened. What he’s done. What he hasn’t done.

Jaejin closes his eyes, and doesn’t think about anything at all.

_It’s not running away. It’s not._

 

 

 

He’d brought nothing but a single rucksack with him, slung over his shoulder. It won’t be enough to last him for more than a week, but he hadn’t wanted to travel any heavier than this. Maybe—maybe he’ll only need three days, no more. Maybe he’ll be back before anyone even realises he’s even gone.

There’s a motel just off the town-centre, one that’s discreet enough that nobody ever really takes notice of who comes and goes, there. He checks in, pays upfront in cash for a week, and tells them he’ll cover it if he stays longer.

The room is minimal: just a bed, a bedside drawer, and a table by the window complete with a rickety stool. There’s a light on the wall that doesn’t seem to be functioning. The curtains are moth-bitten, the window grimy, the bathroom run-of-the-mill for a motel.

He drops his bag onto the bed and sinks down beside it, running a hand through his short, shorn hair.

It’s really all he needs from this place. Somewhere to put his head during the night, somewhere to be while he figures things out.

While he puts himself back together again.

Jaejin exhales. He’s finally here, but he doesn’t know—isn’t sure if he can bring himself to leave this room, to drag his feet across town to where his parents’ photos now hang, still and unmoving. He should, why else is he here, then—but he feels heavy, weighed down by the past, weighed down by the trip and the sound of his own breathing and the way the silence wraps around him like chains.

He doesn’t go.

 

 

 

The hours turn into a day, and the day turns into more days.

Jaejin gets up at odd hours of the night, goes back to sleep, and then wakes up just after dawn. He does push-ups until he’s exhausted, crawls back into bed, and then wakes up again to go look for food. He gets back, stands at the window until he can’t feel his hands gripping at the sill anymore, and then goes to sleep, tired from doing absolutely nothing at all.

Tired, tired. Sick and tired, Jaejin is. Tried and tired and too-wired to stay in one spot.

He still hasn’t gone to see them.

Eventually, after a week and a half, Jaejin checks out of the little motel, and catches the first bus he can out of here.

He still hasn’t found whatever it is he’d come here to find.

(Then again, if he doesn’t go looking for it, how can he?)

 

 

 

It’s no different in Daegu.

He knows why he’s come here. It’s her hometown. It’s the place he’d visit once every blue moon as a child, during holidays. He doesn’t consider it as much home as he does Busan, but still. It’s still part of him, in a way.

As long as it belongs to her, it belongs to him.

So, he stays here too.

He stays, until the days stretch into weeks, and the weeks stretch out into a month.

 

 

 

It’s not running away.

_It’s not._

 

 

 

The curtains are drawn, the room completely black.

He sits in the center of the bed, his arms around his knees. Around him, the off-white sheets wind around his ankles like ropes, tossed here and there in restless sleep. Like thrashing waves in the midst of a storm. He’s the fisherman’s boat that’s been flung against the rocks. Small. Helpless. Unmoving.

It’s four in the morning. A few more hours till the dawn breaks through the horizon, casting light across the shores and the townhouses and the shops and streets and signs.

Jaejin runs his teeth over his lip, until all he can taste is metal. He curls his fingers into the sheets, bunching them up. A cicada screams in the night, shockingly loud in the blunt darkness.

He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t yell.

Knees buckling, he slumps down onto his side, and lets out a ragged breath, closing his eyes.

They’re so near, but they’re not there. They’re just there—but they’re not _here_ anymore. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone, _they’re gone._ He can’t do this, he can’t fucking—he can’t do this without them here. He shouldn’t have to, god—he shouldn’t— _they’re gone—_

He chokes back a sob, an ugly heave that he won’t let out. The walls are thin and anyone could hear him. He doesn’t want them to know he grieves. He doesn’t want anyone to hear a single noise come out of this room.

So, he doesn’t cry either. He doesn’t sleep. He lies there in the same uncomfortable position, until his eyes hurt and his back and knees ache and the guilt in his heart has subsided enough for him to get up, hobble over to the bathroom, and let the water of the steaming shower scald his skin until his hands stop shaking.

And there it goes, and there it goes, and there it goes again.

 

 

 

In the end, he doesn’t even have to go back.

A couple of uniforms show up at his motel room door, banging and hollering at the top of their voices just a little past dawn on the thirty-third day until he opens up, dizzy from the night before, and all the nights before that one.

As they frogmarch him to the car, he realises he’d been wrong about one thing.

There _had_ been someone looking for him.

It just isn’t who he’d wanted it to be.

 

 

 

She’s beautiful.

He doesn’t stand in the pews, doesn’t watch from afar. He walks her right down the aisle towards the start of a new future. She’s resplendent in white, all satin and silk. She shines—not just because of what she’s wearing, but because of the smile she wears like it’s one she knows she’ll wear for the rest of her life, for moments just like this one.

She stands at the altar, turns to meet his gaze right before the priest begins to speak, and beams.

Jaejin nods back at her. He’s smiling too. Why wouldn’t he?

His little sister is getting married. She’s going to have a family.

He watches her take the hand of a man he’s only ever known as a senior in the same industry as him, a man with more power and prestige than he could ever imagine, and he watches her look at that very same man like none of that matters, because all he is to her is the man she loves.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if he’ll ever find anything like that. After everything that’s happened, he wonders if he’ll get the chance. If he’s not too broken that someone doesn’t mind picking up the pieces again.

The moment passes, and he refocuses his attention. The vows are said, the applause is polite, and the kiss is chaste.

It’s picture perfect.

And after, much later, when they finally get a moment to themselves, Eunju presses her face against his shoulder and murmurs, “Thank you.” For being here when their parents couldn’t. It’s been just the two of them for a little while now, and now she has her husband, and a child on the way.

He'd realised, after returning, that he'd been tactless in his sorrow. That he hadn't stopped to consider what she'd been going through, too. It had swallowed him, consumed him whole. Still does.

But tonight is her new start. Her new happiness.

Jaejin brushes her hair back, and says, “Go, have fun.”

He watches her go, and for a moment, he doesn’t know if he should be relieved that she’s no longer alone, or regretful that it’s no longer just the two of them anymore.

It’s a selfish thought, one he’s glad doesn’t show on his face.

He pushes the thought aside, and clings onto the night’s joy instead.

 _I wish you were both here,_ he thinks wistfully, watching his sister dance. _Both of you, instead of me._

 

 

 

The way the world works is a little funny.

Just a little, because, you know, a lot of the things the world throws in your face really aren’t funny at all. Death, break-ups, taxes. Being put in military prison for thirty-three days and having to serve two years’ probation.

Just a little.

He’s a fan of the unexpected. He’s not into the predictable, the idea that life falls into a pattern, one that everyone eventually ends up molding themselves to. So, this—what happens after, and after that, and _after that—_

The world doesn’t do much, in this case. He’s the one who sets things in motion, in a way.

He’s the one who calls Jaeduck, one August afternoon.

Scrolling through his phone contacts, the name flashes by so quickly that he has to scroll back up. _재덕이,_ it says. He hasn’t changed the contact name ever, not since Jaeduck stole his phone and programmed his number in so that Jaejin would know it was him whenever he called.

Jaeduck hasn’t called in a while. Then again, he hasn’t called Jaeduck in a while either. Neither of them have seen each other in a long while, not since before either of them enlisted.

His finger hovers over the button for a long moment.

 _It’ll be fun, we haven’t gone anywhere in so long,_ his friend Hyunshik had said over dinner, words persuasive, coaxing. _Bring someone along—one of your old Busan friends or something. We won’t be going long anyway._

Jaejin clears his throat and says, “Hey. It’s been a while. Are you free this weekend?”

Would you like to go home?

 

 

 

He offers to take first shift driving on the day even though it’s not his car, so he waits out front at seven in the morning, eyes a little bleary, for Hyunshik to arrive in his sedan. It’s not long after that they head over to pick Jaeduck up from the building he’s staying in, the one with Tony Ahn, his dog, and some other friend of theirs.

Tony. Huh. What a strange turn of events. From rivals to best friends, apparently.

“Traitor,” he mutters under his breath, only half-joking.

He continues to contemplate this while he’s waiting in the car, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel while George Michael plays over the radio. Life is funny, funny is life, and all that jazz. It’s not a surprise anymore, really, how things work out.

Jaejin doesn’t even notice the figure walking to the car until he’s tapping on the car window, and he turns to see Jaeduck waving at him sunnily, a bag slung over his shoulder.

He unlocks the door, and Jaeduck slides into the back with a cheerful, “Jaejin!”

“Jaeduck,” Jaejin responds, grinning at him through the rearview mirror. “Been a while.”

It has. He looks different than what Jaejin remembers of him. A little sturdier, a little more filled out, despite his slim frame. His hair’s swept across his forehead, pushed back a little by the light breeze. His smile’s straighter than before, the snaggletooth no more.

He looks good. Really good.

Jaejin blinks, and shakes off the thought. It’s probably not one he should be having, not so soon after seeing his old friend again.

“For sure,” Jaeduck replies, and he greets Hyunshik. “Hello! How d’you two know each other?”

It’s only been thirty seconds and his accent’s already making its way back. Jaejin feels oddly nostalgic, and they haven’t even left Seoul yet.

“He’s come in to eat at my ramyeon restaurant so often that I feel like I see him more than my own wife,” Hyunshik says, and Jaejin snorts. “We good to go?”

“Onwards, comrades!” Jaejin puts the car into drive, and glances over at Jaeduck, who’s looking at him with a weird expression. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing, just—” Jaeduck laughs quietly. “You look like you haven’t aged a day.”

“I’ve been tranfusing the blood of young people into my veins,” Jaejin replies dryly. “My immortality knows no bounds.”

With any other person, he’d have gotten a stare. Maybe they’d ignore him completely.

Instead, Jaeduck says, “Oh, have you stopped sacrificing virgins under the light of the full moon, then?”

There’s a long pause.

Then, both of them start laughing so hard that Jaejin has to stop the car again before he ends up driving straight into a stop sign.

Hyunshik goes, “Oh god, is this going to last the entire trip?”

“No, no,” Jaeduck says, wiping at his eyes. “It’s just. It’s been years since I heard him say anything like that.”

“It has,” Jaejin says. God. Jaeduck’s always been able to make him laugh. He’s one of the only people who ever could, no matter the situation. He’s missed this. He hadn’t realised just how much. They’d spent so much time together as kids, and then those three years with the group.

And now, they’re both older. They’re not children anymore.

“So. Onwards, you said?” Jaeduck says, bringing him back out of his thoughts.

“Onwards!” Jaejin repeats, just as enthusiastically as the first time, and they settle in for the long ride.

 

 

 

The trip to Haeundae is uneventful, and so is the rest of the day. Besides the food, and the minor detours they take sightseeing, there isn’t much going on. It’s a relaxed atmosphere, and Jaejin appreciates the way all three of them don’t feel the need to have something going on the entire time.

And, it’s good. It’s good to be back. It’s good to have company, too.

That night, they split dinner and drinks, and knock their glasses together over some grilled seafood. Jaeduck and Hyunshik have been chatting idly, moving from polite small talk to actual conversation.

It’s not quite the same Jaeduck he remembers. Back then, Jaeduck hadn’t been able to look people in the eye while they spoke, especially not if he’d just met them that very same day. Now, Jaeduck’s casual in the way he leans back in his chair, nodding attentively while Hyunshik talks about his business, not shying away from his gaze at all.

He’s more sure of himself, that’s certain. It’s a side of Jaeduck he hasn’t seen. It’s a side of him that he’s glad he does get to see.

A phone trills. “That’s mine, sorry, be right back,” Hyunshik apologises, and he gets up from the table.

Jaejin pops a piece of eel into his mouth, and says, “When was the last time you’d gone home?”

“Not that long ago. Maybe half a year,” Jaeduck says, picking at his rice with his spoon. “Been busy. Producing, writing. Dancing. Been working on getting better.”

It’s more honest than Jaejin had expected. “Yeah,” Jaejin says softly, “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Jaeduck smiles, and it’s a sort-of knowing one, one that isn’t too bright. One that’s just enough to capture the moment that they’re in. “How about you? When’s the last time you’d come back here?”

“A while.”

Jaeduck takes another bite of his food, before saying, “Hey. Wanna go visit all our old spots? We could drive down to see the school. The old bridge. That place we set up that tent once, the one on the beach.”

“What, where it flew off in the middle of the night?” Jaejin grins. “I remember. Coldest I’ve ever been.”

Well. Not quite. There have been colder nights.

Cold, lonely nights, in motel rooms not too far from here.

Jaejin swallows back his words, and adds, “Your fault, by the way. You didn’t tie it down.”

“C’mon, that wasn’t on me,” Jaeduck immediately whines, “I was only in charge of sticking the poles in the little hole things.”

Jaejin’s about to retort, when Hyunshik reappears, looking a little glum. “Bad news, boys,” he says, setting his phone on the table. “I’ve got to go back to Seoul. Tonight. Some sort of financial issue I’ve got to settle before midnight. Looks like you both are on your own.”

“Oh,” Jaejin says. So much for their three day food trip.

“We’ll manage,” Jaeduck says. “How are you getting home?”

Hyunshik jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s my car.”

“Oh,” Jaejin says again. He’d totally forgotten. “You’re right.”

Well. That definitely puts a wrench into all their plans.

In the end, they end up waving Hyunshik off as he pulls out of parking, having decided that they’ll just have to take a bus back to Seoul once they decide to leave.

“Well,” Jaeduck says, “just you and me. Like the old days. So, where did you get a room at?”

Jaejin’s mind goes blank. “Room,” he says, and Jaeduck starts squinting nervously at him. “You mean we’re not going to get one now?”

“You mean you didn’t get one before?”

“Uh,” Jaejin says. “Oops.”

 

 

 

He can never say that cliches don’t happen in real life ever again. It’s as if every room in the area is booked out—not surprising considering the fact that it’s the peak of summer, and everyone’s come to spend their holiday here with their families.

In the end, they find a little boutique place with one room left.

Just one room. And one bed.

“It’ll be like camping again,” Jaeduck jokes, bumping open the bathroom door to brush his teeth, already settling in like he’s been here for days.

Jaejin flops onto the bed. It’s small. It’s more than big enough for one person, sure, but it’ll be a stretch for two. It’s also been a while since he’s had to share his sleep with another person.

“You’re okay with it, right?” Jaeduck pokes his head out the door at Jaejin’s question. “I mean, I could take the floor—”

“You’re old too, shut up,” Jaeduck says around his toothbrush, words muffled. “Our backs need this.”

Jaejin pushes one of the pillows over to one side, and pulls the other closer to him. “Okay,” he says, “I call the right side.”

They don’t take long to settle in. Jaejin turns in early, and lies awake on his side for a short while, as Jaeduck sits on the edge of the bed, typing something on his phone. He eventually puts it on the bedside table, though, and reaches over to turn off the light, draping the room in darkness.

Jaejin’s still on his side facing outwards, so he doesn’t see Jaeduck, but he feels the bed shift with his weight when he swings his legs onto it, tucking them under the spare blanket they’d managed to get from the front desk.

“G’night,” comes Jaeduck’s voice, low in the silence.

Jaejin hums back at him, and falls asleep to uneasy dreams of being so close to home again.

 

 

They get close again over the next couple of days again, rediscovering their old stomping grounds, the old haunts they now ghost around with different eyes. It’s only a couple of train and bus rides away and they’re back home again, the cultural village with its quaint colourful roofs and its sunny ocean-side views.

It’s a nostalgia trip, through and through. They eat, they talk, they climb up steep paths just to take photographs of places they can barely see now because of how the trees have grown, twisting and winding around the houses. They end up just getting a single room here too, because why not? It’s cutting cost.

(And, to be honest, he hadn’t really minded sharing a bed with Jaeduck, despite Jaeduck’s constant need for skinship, despite his often wandering hands in his sleep. Jaejin hasn’t really had anyone this near in a while.)

Jaejin finds things out about Jaeduck he hadn’t known had happened over the time they’ve been out of touch, and in turn, he talks about how he’s been. Talks about whatever he can.

It’s a bit of a surprise to find out that Jaeduck’s turned into a bit of a reader. He’s got a couple of books stowed away in his backpack, and he pulls one of them out on the third day while they’re sitting at a little coffeeshop, relaxed and not in a rush to head off anywhere at all.

 _“Essays in Love,”_ Jaejin reads off the cover, “Alain Botton. What’s it about?”

“Oh,” Jaeduck says, tucking his fingers into the pages so as to not lose his place, and turning it over to glance at the front of the book. He sounds a little embarrassed. “It’s about two people who fall in love.”

“That’s it?”

“Not really. It’s not just a story—it talks about love from different perspectives.” Jaeduck shrugs, and rubs at the heavily creased spine of the book with his thumb. “The way he writes… it makes love seem like much more than just a feeling. See, there’s this one line—”

He starts flipping through the pages, until he finds what he’s looking for, and clears his throat. “This bit: _Montaigne declared that, ‘In love, there is nothing but a frantic desire for what flees from us,’ an idea echoed by Anatole France’s maxim that, ‘It is not customary to love what one has.’”_ Jaeduck flips back to the page he’d been at earlier, and hums. “Makes you think, doesn’t it? We spend all this time chasing things that we can’t have.”

Jaejin knows that sentiment well.

It’s not just things he can’t have that he chases, either. It’s things that he used to have, things that have since slipped out of his grasp, things that he can no longer hold onto, wisps of smoke through his fingers.

“It’s why I came here,” Jaejin says, thinking about a hotel room with no lights. “When I was in the military. When I didn’t report back for that month.”

Jaeduck’s silent for a moment. “You haven’t really talked about that with anyone, have you?”

“No,” Jaejin admits. “Just my sister.” She’s the only one he trusts to talk to about anything, anyway. He taps along the side of his cup. His coffee’s gone a little lukewarm, now. “There wasn’t much to talk about.”

“Besides why you went?” Jaeduck’s gaze meets his. “Or why you stayed?”

 _There’s too much, too much._ It soaks through his skin, drags him down. The past is heavy and ever-present in his life.

“I was looking for something,” Jaejin finally says.

“Did you find it?”

Jaejin shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It didn’t find me either.”

“Maybe you were looking in the wrong places,” Jaeduck says.

“Maybe,” Jaejin says, “or maybe I was just there at the wrong time.”

Jaeduck’s smile is a little unreadable. “Maybe,” he says. “You’re not the only one who’s been looking for something, too.”

“What about you, then?”

“I’ve only ever hoped for one thing,” Jaeduck murmurs regretfully, “and it’s always been the group.”

“The group,” Jaejin echoes. “You still think there’s a chance?”

“Honestly? For all of us? No.”

The statement’s so flat-out pessimistic that Jaejin doesn’t believe it’s coming from Jaeduck at first, but he’s serious.

“But,” Jaeduck continues, “what I think, and what I can hope for, are two completely different things.”

He’s not sure what makes him say his next words, but Jaejin says, “It’ll happen.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Jaejin says. Speak it into existence. Let someone up there hear him. Don’t let Jaeduck go away with those sad eyes, or that disappointed heart. “It will.”

The corner of Jaeduck’s mouth quirks up. “Pinky promise?”

“We’re in our thirties, you really want to—” Jaejin sighs, and holds out his hand. “Promise.”

Their little fingers lock together, and this time, Jaeduck’s smile is a lot more genuine. “Hey,” he says, “you wanna go in the water tonight?”

 

 

 

The water’s a shock to his system when he first wades in. He’s only in up to his knees, but the light breeze, his lack of a shirt and the cold water are enough to make him break out in shivers. “It’s freezing,” he says, wrapping his arms around himself. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

It’s past eight, and the part of the beach they’d wandered down to is one that’s never really been occupied, too far off from the main area to have a crowd, especially at night. He hasn’t been here in ages.

Jaeduck follows him in, already down to just his shorts too. “The water isn’t _that_ cold,” he says, eyes glinting with mischief, and before Jaejin can react, Jaeduck’s splashing water into his face.

He splutters, and immediately darts to do the same, but Jaeduck’s already leaping away, cackling madly in that way he does when he’s being trouble.

It turns into a water-fight, absolute children’s play, but Jaejin can’t help but laugh too when he manages to get Jaeduck across the back of the neck, making him yelp.

“Okay, okay, you’re right, it’s cold,” Jaeduck concedes—right before he attempts to shove Jaejin into the water. He misses, of course, but Jaejin almost loses his balance, and that’s when it all kicks off for real.

 _“Kim Jaeduck!_ I will end you!”

“Just try!”

There’s a brief tussle that has them both wandering deeper into the water in an attempt to grab at each other, and the moment Jaejin manages to get a hold of Jaeduck, a wave hits them out of nowhere, and both of them end up falling in.

Jaeduck resurfaces first, with Jaejin following right after. They’re still holding onto each other, but now Jaeduck’s half on top of Jaejin, one leg tangled under his. “Okay,” Jaeduck wheezes, wiping the water out of his eyes, “you win.”

“I think we both lost here,” Jaejin says, but he’s laughing, resting his forehead against Jaeduck’s shoulder, against his completely soaked skin. Jaeduck’s giggling too, and god, they both probably look like idiots, don’t they?

“I’ll accept that.”

Jaejin lifts his head, and it’s only then that he realises how close they are, skin-to-skin, what with the position they’ve ended up in and the fact that they’re only in their shorts. The tattoo along the back of Jaeduck’s neck stands out sharply, all black ink along pale skin, illuminated by the light of the equally pale moon. Jaejin suddenly wants to press his mouth against it, maybe run his teeth along the careful placed lines that he still doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Come on,” Jaejin says, pushing the thought aside, and shoving Jaeduck off his lap. “I think we’ve had enough fun for today. It’s too damn cold here.”

 

 

 

They get drunk, really drunk, about four days into the trip. Jaejin doesn’t know what took them so long, what with Jaeduck’s low tolerance for anything alcoholic, but they finally end up completely wasted, splitting a bottle of whiskey between them in their little room.

Neither of them had wanted to go out that night, anyway. They’ve seen enough of their past, and enough of the scenery to last them a long while.

And Jaejin knows they’re drunk, not just tipsy, because they’re both on the bed, and he’s leaning against Jaeduck like he’s a particularly comfortable pillow, not wanting to move in the slightest. One of Jaeduck’s arms hangs loosely around his shoulders. “Cheers,” Jaeduck says, giggling when their glasses miss for the third time that night, and he takes the shot.

“Y’know,” Jaejin says, after setting his own empty glass down on the sheets, “we haven’t done anything like this in years.”

“We haven’t even _seen_ each other in years,” Jaeduck says, a little amused.

“Right,” Jaejin murmurs. “And so much happened in between.”

“It did.” Jaeduck shifts a little, and his cheek brushes the top of Jaejin’s head. “A lot of things I bet we both wish we could take back.”

His fingers run along the hem of Jaejin’s sleeve, fidgeting absently. “Too many to count,” Jaejin says, and his chest feels tight just saying those words. Flashes of laughter fading, the cold grasp of a weak hand in his, the taste of metal in his mouth.

“Some good things too,” Jaeduck adds.

The sound of children playing, the scratch of a pencil against paper.

“A few,” Jaejin says, and, before he can think, “you’re one of those good things, too.”

“Me?” Jaeduck hums, low in the back of his throat, a little pleased rumble that Jaejin feels, running down his spine like a shiver. “Us, maybe. Not just me.”

 _Us,_ thinks Jaejin, and it makes him lean back a little, just to take Jaeduck in properly. There hasn’t been an ‘us’ for him in so long. Not with the group. Not with a lover.

The last word catches on the back of his teeth, makes him stumble in his thoughts.

This whole trip, he’s been feeling that pull again. That tiny thread of something that’s been weaving the two of them together. He hadn’t been sure what it was. Maybe it’d just been the rekindling of old friendship, of old bonds forged in their youth over dance and studies and the promise of a lifetime to come.

Maybe it hadn’t just been that, he thinks, when he watches the flutter of Jaeduck’s lashes across his eyes, and observes the curve of his lips, and wants to map out the distance between his jaw and collarbone with the tip of his tongue.

“Jaejin?” Jaeduck sits up a little, drawing his knees to himself. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just—” Jaejin shakes his head, and glances down, the flash of black against skin grabbing his attention. He’s seen Jaeduck’s other tattoo several times over the past few days, but not this close, not this still. He lets his hand drift closer, until his fingers can stroke over the little character.

Jaeduck shivers, but doesn’t move. He lets Jaejin close his fingers over his ankle slowly, like a man on a ship in the middle of a storm, finding out about the existence of an anchor for the first time.

 _Carpe diem,_ Jaejin thinks, a little humourlessly. But softer.

“Jaejin,” Jaeduck says, voice muted, but still the loudest sound in this still, silent room.

Their heads are bowed close together. Now, Jaejin could even count every single eyelash if he wanted to, every little line in his lip, can already hear every soft breath that escapes Jaeduck.

If Jaejin would only just—if he’d just lean in, just a little closer, if he’d just tip Jaeduck’s chin back a little—if he’d just stop thinking and forget about everything just for one moment—if he would _just—_

Jaeduck exhales, and shuts his eyes, pushing Jaejin away gently. “Don’t do it,” he whispers, fingers closing around Jaejin’s wrist and pulling his hand away from him. “You’ll regret it.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaejin says, but there’s something in his foggy, drunk mind that tells him, yes, you might, you have no idea what you’re doing and where you’d even go from here. “I’m sorry,” he eventually says, when Jaeduck doesn’t reply, still holding onto his wrist. “I’m sorry.”

Jaeduck lets go of him, and runs a hand through Jaejin’s hair gently, like he’s telling him that it’s alright. Like he’s saying, _I’m sorry, too._ “We should get some sleep,” he murmurs, and he reaches over to grab the bottle and the fallen-over glasses to set them on the floor.

“Jaeduck,” Jaejin starts, but Jaeduck’s turning over and tugging the sheets up.

The room’s still again, stiller than before.

Jaejin lies down on his side too, facing the other way, and flicks off the light-switch on his side.

He lies awake for hours, until he finally hears Jaeduck lapse into sleep.

 

 

 

In the morning, his head’s pounding and his mouth is dry as he stumbles to the bathroom to wash the exhaustion out of his eyes, and when he comes out again, Jaeduck’s sitting up on the bed, looking just as bleary-eyed and hungover as he feels.

Neither of them acknowledge the night before.

Neither of them speak to each other for the entire morning.

And then, Jaejin gets a phone call from his sister asking if he’s still away, and whether it’d be possible for him to watch the kids tonight, and if he can’t it’s fine, but it’s a bit of a last minute thing and she can’t get anyone else, and—

He tells her, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back by tonight,” and hangs up.

Jaeduck glances over from where he’s standing at the open window, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. “You’ve got to go back?” he asks, and it’s he first thing Jaejin’s heard from him since, _we should get some sleep._

“Yeah,” he answers, voice still a little hoarse. He clears his throat, and adds, “Have to look after the kids for Eunju.”

“We can probably catch a train soon.”

Jaejin nods. “You still smoke?” he asks. He’d always hoped Jaeduck would stop.

“Everyone has their bad habits,” Jaeduck responds, sounding tired. He takes another drag, and a few swirls of smoke do their fatal little dance around his head, like the ghosts of memories fading away into the air. “Looks like our holiday’s over.”

“End of the road, then,” Jaejin comments.

“For now,” Jaeduck replies, stubbing out his cigarette on the windowsill, and they leave it at that.

For now.

 

 

They step off the train into the dimming light of day. Seoul awaits them, and Jaejin can’t wait to see the kids. To see his family. He’s always eager to see them, no matter what.

He grabs his bag, and turns to Jaeduck, who’s smiling, looking a little tired. “Tell Eunju I said hello,” he says, sounding a little wistful. “Never really spoke to her when we were kids.”

“I will,” Jaejin says, shouldering his bag, “I’ll tell the children you said hi too. And, uh. I don’t really have anything to tell Tony. Sorry.”

Jaeduck laughs. “I’m pretty sure Seungho-hyung won’t mind too much.” Before Jaejin can say anything else, Jaeduck’s moving forward to hug him. “Thanks,” Jaeduck whispers, “and don’t forget to call me, okay? I’m not losing you thrice.”

“You won’t,” Jaejin says, and they pull away. “I’ll see you, Jaeduck.”

“See you, Jaejin.”

He watches Jaeduck get into a cab, and stands there until he can’t see the cab any longer. Then, he gets into one himself, and heads over to his sister’s place, where she welcomes him with open arms, and a single question.

_How was the trip?_

Jaejin watches his niece and nephew bound about excitably, and thinks about how they’re just as bright as the sun had been. Then, he remembers the way Jaeduck’s smile had been even brighter, the way Jaeduck had touched his face, the way Jaeduck had laughed, and the way he’d looked up at the clear blue sky like it meant something to him.

(The way Jaeduck had whispered, _don’t do it._

The way he’d still wanted to.)

“It was fine,” he says. “It was home.”

 

 

 

Sanctuary. That’s the word that comes to mind.

This is his sanctuary, the one place he can exist where the world can’t touch him. Where he can take all the time he wants. Where he can just _be._

In the early days, it’d just been a space with plain white walls, art supplies stacked neatly on cupboards, a couple of canvases, a few pieces from students who’d previously utilised the painting room on other days. Now, his own work is scattered across the place, his supplies taking up precedence on carts and trays, a couple of decorations propped against the walls—Star Wars figurines, a poster or two, a little succulent in the corner.

He’s been coming to his atelier more often than not, recently. It’s the only time he can think properly without anything else plaguing his thoughts. It’s the only time he can let those thoughts out, like drawing memories into a Pensieve: silvery and thin in his mind, splashes of colour in reality.

Jaejin’s been painting… something. He hasn’t been too sure, honestly. He should be working on another piece right now—and he has, he has, but this… he keeps coming back to it. He can’t let it stay in the corner unfinished.

His professor watches keenly over his shoulder. “You’ve been using much darker tones in this one compared to the garden work.”

“Yeah,” Jaejin says, the movements of his brush halting momentarily. “They felt right.”

He hasn’t been using references for this one. Just colours and strokes from memory. A darkened room, small and empty save a small wooden chair by a table. A silhouette of a man leaning against a window, staring out into the rain. The rain, falling from grey skies, across the outline of a familiar town.

“That’s you,” his professor says, and when Jaejin really looks at it again, he sees it in the line of the man’s shoulders, the nondescript clothes he wears, the way he looks like he’s waiting for something. Waiting for something that might not even exist. Chasing shadows in the dark. “Isn’t it?”

Jaejin exhales, and sets his brush down. “I think I’m done with this one,” he says, voice a little tight, and he goes to fetch the other painting.

His professor says nothing, and sets this one aside.

 

 

 

He doesn’t believe it’s happening until it actually happens, until they’re actually on that stage, dressed in those ridiculous outfits, blindfolds over their eyes and the silence of an entire stadium around then.

He doesn’t believe it, until the lights slam on, and the roar of hundreds of people echo around him, filling his hearing and his entire being, throwing him years back into the past, but at the same time, grounding him in this very moment.

They’re together. Each one of them. All six of them—Jiyong included, even if it is just for a couple of performances.

 _Sechskies,_ he breathes, he hears, he sees, and it makes him wish he could go back in time to tell his younger self that this is how it’d all work out.

When it’s all done with, they reconvene backstage, and everyone’s tired out of their minds, completely overwhelmed by the response, still, and Jaejin just wants to sit down somewhere and pretend that he isn’t still shaking.

He does, and it’s a relief to be able to gather his thoughts to himself for a moment, without anyone asking him how he feels about everything, but it doesn’t take long before someone approaches him.

Jaeduck plops down beside him, and hugs his knees to himself. He’s already changed out of his outfit and back into his own clothes. There are still glittery stickers in his hair. Jaejin wants to reach out and touch the little star on his cheek. Maybe run his fingertips over his skin. Feel how flushed he is. “Hey,” Jaeduck says, completely unnecessarily, but he doesn’t say anything else after that.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe there isn’t anything to say at all.

Jaejin uncurls himself, stretching out his legs. “We talked about this,” he eventually says, and Jaeduck nods. “Back then.”

 _Then,_ a few years ago, in the worst days of their lives.

Now—Jaeduck smiles, much lighter, much less regretful, and says, “Maybe we can predict the future, eh? Keep saying what you want and maybe it’ll come true.”

 _I don’t know what I want,_ Jaejin’s mind supplies, but he asks, “What do you want?”

Jaeduck glances across the room. Jaejin follows his gaze.

Jiwon’s sprawled across one of the couches, speaking in low tones to one of the Infinite Challenge producers. Suwon’s on the phone, probably speaking to his girlfriend, if the content look on his face is anything to go by. Sunghoon’s laughing at something Jiyong’s said, the both of them bumping shoulders, looking like it hasn’t been a single day since they’ve been apart.

It’s a scene he hasn’t witnessed in over a decade.

Then, Jaeduck says, “I want you to be happy.”

Someone calls out for the cameras to cut. Jiwon shakes hands with the producer, and goes to speak with someone else. Suwon ends his call, and starts wandering around to look for a drink. Sunghoon’s scrolling through Jiyong’s phone, cooing at photographs of his kid. There’s something in Jiyong’s eyes that looks like how Jaejin feels.

Like he’s missed too much of this to miss all of this, this much.

“I always want you to be happy, Jaejin,” comes Jaeduck’s soft admission, and he looks up when someone calls his name, scurrying up and away before Jaejin can even think of a way to respond to what he’s just said.

To be happy.

He watches Jaeduck narrowly avoid the snack that Jiwon chucks at him (purely just because he can), before running to hide behind Suwon, who looks completely done with the entire situation. Sunghoon comes up from behind them to see what they’re up to, and ends up getting beaned in the head by Jiwon’s next throw.

Jiyong’s just watching them from where he’s sitting, some strange, familiar, everlastingly wistful expression on his face.

 _Maybe this is being happy,_ Jaejin thinks, having all of this once again.

Maybe this is the chance I needed all along.

Maybe them.

Jaejin ends up going over to stop Sunghoon from retaliating with a rather large bag of peanuts, and meets Jaeduck’s eyes over unending laughter and the feeling of something lasting.

_Maybe him._

 

 

 

It doesn’t end that night.

There are calls, and texts, and get-togethers. It’s meeting after meeting after meeting. He sees his brother-in-law more times than he can count on his fingers within the span of a single month, but it’s all productive, leading up to something he hadn’t thought would ever happen.

And then, one early morning in May, he turns on his phone, and sees the headlines to a dozen articles.

_Sechskies makes a comeback after 16 years!_

The world stirs awake, and takes notice.

 

 

 

It’s only half a year later that he realise, the six of them are closer than they’ve ever been.

It’s like having a family again.

He knows that he does have one already, in the form of his sister, her husband, his niece and nephew that he’s doted on ever since they first came into this world. He wouldn’t trade them for anything, especially not the children.

They’d helped so much, especially in the early years after his parents had departed. Having them around was like light filling a room after months of disuse, of abandonment. They were his two tiny suns, and all he could do was orbit around them.

But, this—it’s different, in a way.

It’s having Jiwon nag at him over some completely menial issue. It’s sharing a look with Sunghoon whenever something completely ridiculous happens. It’s saying something, and having Suwon quip back in a way that’s a million times sharper than anyone else can come up with. It’s clinking his glass against Jiyong’s late in the night, and sharing stories about the loved little ones in their trust.

All of them, they’re slowly filling the gap in his heart that’s been there since they went their separate ways, but there’s still something he’s missing, something he hasn’t allowed himself to have in so long, something he doesn’t know how to have anymore.

It’s having someone take care of him, after having to take care of himself for so long.

It’s having Jaeduck care.

Not that Jaeduck hasn’t before. It’s just—different. It’s the small things that all add up, that make it feel like he’s not just being cared about, but more like he’s being taken care of. He calls more often, they eat together a lot more, they hang out where Jaejin would’ve gone home to be alone, before.

It reminds him of years that are long past.

So, maybe, just maybe, when Jaeduck tosses him a bottle of water after practice, lightly squeezes the back of his neck to tell him he’s done a good job, and asks after his upcoming art show and whether he can come visit, the unwarranted show of kindness is starting to be enough to cover his old hurts, his lingering loss.

Maybe.

 

 

 

A couple of weeks before the series of concerts they’d be doing for _Yellow Note,_ he’d received a request—they had needed one more person to play the third character in the love triangle of the skit for the J-Walk stage, they’d told him, so could he be that person?

“Okay. Sure,” he’d agreed, not thinking much of it, until the day of.

A little while before they’re slated to go onstage, he’s handed a neon-yellow street cleaner’s outfit, so garishly bright that it’s almost blinding. He takes a fondness to it immediately. “Comfy,” he remarks offhandedly, “can I just wear this for the rest of the concert?”

His stylist turns to him, somehow managing to look disappointed and outraged all in one.

Jaejin quickly decides to slink away, and he sidles up beside Suwon, who’s dressed much more tastefully compared to the night before, a long gingham coat over a white turtleneck, when yesterday he’d been subjected to a ridiculously pink, lacy get-up and blonde pigtails.

“Unfair,” Suwon mutters under his breath, arms crossed over his chest. Jaeduck seems to have escaped a similar fate—not that he’s spared from dressing up as a woman, not at all, but his outfit hinges less on hilarity and more on realism. It’s no wonder Suwon’s miffed.

Jaeduck brushes the long bangs of the wig out of his eyes, and meets Jaejin’s gaze in the mirror. He says nothing, but the corner of his mouth quirks up as he looks back to his stylist.

They’ve obviously done something to his face that isn’t just regular cover-up—he looks… gentler. His eyes are only slightly more shadowy, lips a balmy pink. The curl of his lashes over his cheeks seems even longer than before when he smiles at something the stylist says and ducked his head coyly, one hand wringing the soft material of the shimmery green sweater that’s tucked into the waist of the short black skirt he was wearing, the other hand absently tugging at the hems of the matching black stockings that end halfway up his thighs.

All of the outfit is ancillary.

The smile draws Jaejin’s attention, almost uncomfortably so. Jaejin isn’t sure why—it’s the same smile Jaeduck wears every single day. Maybe it’s the way the long wig—deceptively real—falls around his face, creating the illusion of a chin that’s more pointed, a jawline that stands out less harshly.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes look, all kohl-lined and more feminine than usual. Softer. Kinder. Caring.

Motherly, even.

 _Oh,_ Jaejin thinks, and his entire world narrows.

“You look like my mother,” he says, and though his own voice sounds faraway and distant to himself; the words are a complete sucker punch to the gut—he speaks them into existence, and a million and one memories flood his system all at once.

“Why don’t you bow to her?” Suwon jokes, gesturing towards Jaeduck, but Jaejin can barely hear him over the sound of spoons scraping against metal, the beep of hospital machines, the soft press of a hand against sheets, all in his head.

“If she really was my mother, then I should hug her,” he says absently, and before he can take it back, he’s already moving towards Jaeduck, who’s still adjusting his bangs in the mirror, straightening and re-tucking the same bit of hair behind one ear, commenting on how he rather likes the way he’s looking. Innocent. Pretty.

_Like her._

Suwon’s grinning, behind him, but Jaejin tunes him out and makes a beeline for Jaeduck. “Mom,” he says, half-jesting, but the second the word slips out, his chest feels weirdly tight, and he can’t hold himself back from wrapping his arms around Jaeduck’s waist just as tightly. “Mom,” he says again, even as Jaeduck’s hand naturally falls to his back in response to the embrace.

“Why—why? _Why?”_ comes Jaeduck’s mildly confused inquiries, one right after the other, but he doesn’t push Jaejin away. His right hand curls around his shoulder and brushes down his side, and his left hand comes up to clasp his neck gently. It’s almost instinctual when Jaejin leans into his warmth, and Jaeduck tugs him closer.

“He says you resemble his mother,” Suwon says, over their shoulders, and Jaeduck’s touch immediately becomes a little firmer, and the brushes become little thumping pats against his back, as if he’s saying, _hey, I understand, I’m sorry, hey, let me keep holding you a little longer._

Conversely, the stroke of his thumb along the collar of Jaejin’s shirt becomes even more soothing in comparison.

It’s the same way his mother held him as a child, with him on her lap, his face tucked into her neck and her palm steady against the nape of his, her thumb stroking gently under his ear as she whispered, “Don’t cry.”

The thought both comforts him and horrifies him all in one.

Kim Jaeduck is obviously not actually his mother. Jaejin realises this, _of course he does—_ but he can’t seem to pull away, can’t seem to make himself let go of Jaeduck, especially not when Jaeduck is still holding him, seemingly not wanting to let go either.

He almost forgets that the cameras are still filming every single second of this.

And then, Jaeduck murmurs, “Do I really look like her?”

Jaejin is still for a moment. “Yes,” he eventually voices, and Jaeduck just hums, nonchalantly resting his chin on Jaejin’s head. “But she was prettier.”

“Hey,” Jaeduck replies in mild indignation, before he laughs quietly, sounding wistful. “I wish I remembered what she looked like. It’s been so many years.”

(Trudging up a steep hill road, lugging bookbags over their shoulders. Running across a tiny porch, running into the house to say their greetings. Letting familiar, worn hands run their own path through his messy hair, and then Jaeduck’s messy hair. He’d been shorter even then.

Jaeduck telling him, “Play me at _matgo_ tomorrow,” and hastily making an exit as Jaejin yells after him that he’s already taken all of Jaejin’s money, what else does he want from him?

His mother, standing by the table, laughing and laughing and laughing.)

That tight feeling in Jaejin’s chest does absolutely nothing to resolve itself. “Like this,” he says. “Like this.”

 

 

 

They wrap up the concert, hours later, and head off their separate ways. It still feels surreal, the fact that they’ve just come off a stage where they’d stood before thousands of fans, thousands of fans over the course of several nights, all the thousands of fans he never thought he’d get to greet like this again for years and years after the separation.

He feels the fatigue in his limbs, heavy and dragging even as he sits back in his seat in the van, like they’ve been soaked in syrup and he’s unable to lift them anymore—but even then, there’s a weird buzz in his head, something that’s making him feel antsy, like something is still unfinished, incomplete.

Fragmentary thoughts fill his head. Flashes of the concert: screams from all around, blinding lights from above and below, the loud blare of music filling the air. Sweat dripping down his back, dancing his heart out for the audience. Laughing at something Jiwon’s said. Tossing a stuffed animal at a fan and watching her face brighten, even in the darkness. Jaeduck tackling him to the ground, a stuffed teddy bear in his arms, grinning the entire time.

 _Jaeduck._ His mind lingers on the last thought. He still can’t place it. It’s odd.

He’s more than aware of the unexpected attraction that he’s been harbouring between Busan and now. It isn’t new to him anymore. It’s been years, after all, since that trip back home, where they’d nearly done something they would’ve regretted the morning after.

( _Don’t do it,_ Jaeduck’s voice echoes in his head, quiet and sad and still somehow longing.)

It stays in the back of his mind, only gently making itself known whenever he sees Jaeduck at practices, or when they have some event to attend. This is something else—strange and cloying and overlapping with some distant, fuzzy emotion linked to the past.

It is confusing.

Jaejin’s phone buzzes somewhere in the bottom of his bag. It takes him a moment to fish it out from under all the junk in there, but he manages eventually, and he flicks on the screen to see a notification from the very same person he’d just been thinking about. Speak of the devil.

_Drinks and dumplings? it says. We can go to that place you like in Yongsan-gu._

_You buying?_ Jaejin replies, watching the little bubbles in the chat textbox wiggle as Jaeduck types a reply.

 _Sure,_ pops up the single answer a second later.

Jaejin looks at the screen for a long time. “Excuse me,” he finally speaks, getting his manager’s attention, “could we make a detour?”

_Okay._

 

 

 

The dumpling place isn’t as busy tonight as other days. It’s still packed with people, but it’s a sort-of cosy chatter that floats through the air, conversations of people getting a bite after a long day of work, or after an eventful evening out. People content with just their food, and the good company that they’re sharing.

It’s a fitting mood. Jaeduck’s already seated at a table in a corner when he walks in, a couple of beers on the table waiting. He’s idly scrolling through his phone, not paying anyone any attention, and the same the other way around.

Jaejin tugs his cap over his head a bit tighter, self-conscious of his bright hair, and approaches the table. “Were you going to come here even if I said no?” he asks, and Jaeduck’s startled right out of his seat at the sudden inquiry.

“Oh my god,” Jaeduck wheezes, hand over his chest, “you surprised me. Yeah. I’m hungry. Didn’t really eat anything proper before the concert.”

“You and your nerves.” Jaejin pulls out a chair, and tugs one of the beers closer to himself. “You never eat enough before any of the shows, I swear. Order more.”

“Mm.” Jaeduck sets his phone down. “Already did. Pork, fried, extra spicy kimchi. Oh, and one ramyeon.”

“A man after my own heart,” Jaejin declares, clinking his beer against Jaeduck’s. “Cheers.”

Drinks are had, and the food arrives a little while later, plates of steaming hot dumplings, freshly made and bursting with flavour. Jaejin nearly burns his tongue on the very first one, but it’s worth it. Nothing tastes better than late-night dumplings after a long day.

Good food, and good company.

Jaeduck doesn’t say much while they’re eating, and neither does Jaejin. They’ve shared enough meals to know what the other prefers without things getting awkward. They’re both tired out from the concert, so small-talk is off the table—but the silence is comfortable, easy, and filled instead with the sound of clinking chopsticks and the slurp of noodles and the thud of glasses against the wooden table.

Soon, they’ve moved past the food, and onto their second, third, fourth beers. They’re not strong ales, but Jaejin’s already feeling a little lightheaded, a little easy on his feet. Maybe it’s because of all the energy he’d burnt up today. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to think too much anymore, tonight.

Jaeduck’s already past tipsy, as usual. After years, he still can’t hold his alcohol, and the fact that he rarely drinks beer doesn’t help. He’s holding himself together well, though. You can only tell that he’s drunk by the rising flush on his cheeks, the way he keeps fidgeting with his earring, the almost sleepy look in his eyes.

It makes him think of earlier. Earlier, when he’d met Jaejin’s gaze in the mirror, backstage in the dressing room, and smiled.

Jaejin takes another sip, and says, “You really did look like my mother when you dressed up earlier. It was a bit of a shock.”

“I could tell by the look on your face,” Jaeduck says honestly. He always gets too earnest when they drink. Both of them do. “Why, though?”

“I don’t know. I just.” Jaejin taps his fingers along the rim of his table, not looking up at Jaeduck. “It was like she was there and I was a kid again. And then,” he says, remembering the moment in vivid visualisation, “you were holding me, and I wanted her to keep doing it—you to keep doing it.”

Jaeduck’s silent for a while. Then, “You miss her. Both of them,” he says soberly, matter-of-fact. “I miss my mom too.”

 _But not like this,_ Jaejin thinks, almost uncaringly, before he can stop himself. Not like your entire world is ending. Not like everything comes crashing down around you every single time you spot someone in a crowd who might’ve had the same orange shirt as him, or when you smell something that reminds you of her, even years after thinking that he’s gotten over it, even years after thinking that he’s fine, he’s gotten help, he’s fine now.

Not like this, when he keeps chasing shadows, transplanting the memory of a dead woman over the real, tangible comfort of a man he’s shared half a life with.

It’s a little sickening, the thought. The fact that his mind is doing this, playing tricks with him, with the feelings he harbours and the grief he’s never properly buried.

He knows it’s some attachment that he hasn’t quite moved on from, yet. He knows it’s getting in the way of him finding something more in life, this grief that keeps the soles of his shoes waterlogged and unable to take anymore steps forward, this loss that’s been keeping him closed off from everywhere else.

But—Jaeduck is here, and Jaeduck is looking at him, eyes warm and presence true, and he thinks, maybe, _maybe_ it’s time to lay those flickers of a past life to rest, to stop tugging death along on a lead over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Jaejin just says in response. “I do.”

The tip of Jaeduck’s shoe brushes against Jaejin’s ankle unconsciously. “We should,” Jaeduck starts, sounding unsure of himself even as he says it, “we should go visit them. In Busan. Shouldn’t we?”

They should, in all honesty. He hasn’t been to visit them in a while. He’s guessing Jaeduck hasn’t gone since his mother passed on. He wonders if Jaeduck’s just not thought about visiting or whether he has, but keeps changing his mind for some reason.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Jaeduck adds softly, probably just to fill the silence that Jaejin’s left with not replying right away, and oh, that answers his question. “I just… I don’t want to go alone. I don’t know. It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Jaejin says, understanding dawning immediately, and he lets the side of one sneaker bump gently against Jaeduck’s, like he’s trying to say that it’s okay. “It’s not.”

“It’s not,” Jaeduck echoes, sounding reassured. Their shoes catch again, and Jaeduck’s ankle just curls over Jaejin’s, like he’s in need of an anchor, someone to hold onto. Jaejin lets him. “So, will you go with me?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this warm. Maybe it’s the lights, the heat from the kitchen, the food they’ve just eaten. Maybe it’s the way they’re almost skin-to-skin, ankles hooked together in some strange imitation of hands that want to hold each other.

Jaejin rests his arms on the table, and his little finger brushes Jaeduck’s thumb when he unfurls his closed hand. It’s as close as he’ll let them get.

Then, Jaeduck reaches over, and puts his hand over Jaejin’s, curling his slim fingers over Jaejin’s—and the simple motion makes Jaejin freeze. Jaeduck leans forward, and it almost feels like Jaeduck _knows_ that he’s remembering that one night.

“Go with me,” he tells Jaejin simply, the way Jaejin needs to hear the words, instead of being presented with the option.

Jaejin turns his hand over, and their palms meet, two pieces of the right puzzle in the wrong place, at the wrong time. “Okay,” he says. “I will.”

 

 

 

(He’s not running away. He’s not.

He’s just stalling, is what he tells himself when he packs a bag and leaves, one week before the press conference announcing the group’s retirement from the music industry, early in the year, just past the turn of the century. _It’s a new millenium,_ everyone had declared, _it’s a new start for us all!_

A new start? A new end, maybe. The end of Sechskies. The end of what he’d thought would be forever.

They tell the fans, _we’ll be with you always._ They tell the fans, _we’ll always be Sechskies._

But now—

_Now?_

What are they, now?

The thing is, Jaejin had even told their manager a couple of days ago, but he’d shrugged it off as Jaejin making a throwaway remark, just a comment made in frustration. So, really, they can’t say that it’s him running away, because who tells someone that they’re going to run away before they actually do?

He’s just stalling.

Jaejin takes a bus, and another bus, and another bus, and it’s an entire half a day he’s gone thirsty and hungry before he actually reaches his destination.

Busan. Of course it’s Busan. Where else would he go?

Where else would he _want_ to go?

He ends up walking all the way home from the bus station, having not phoned his parents at all. They’d been in Seoul with him, to go over accounts and contract details with the company, but they’d returned home without him.

Jaejin drops his bag by the door, and taps on the door.

His father answers it, and his shocked look quickly turns into confusion. “Jaejin,” he says, confounded, “what are you doing here? Are you here alone? How did you get here?”

“I—” Jaejin starts, but the words won’t come out of his mouth.

“Who’s here?” His mother appears behind his father. “Oh—my boy, what are you—how did you get home?”

He hadn’t thought about how they’d react, Jaejin suddenly realises. He should have—he could have at least told them first. He hadn’t thought. He just hadn’t considered them.

Jaejin bites his lip, feeling uneasy, and he whispers, “Sorry. I just. I didn’t want to leave them, and I thought if I left—maybe they wouldn’t—but I don’t. Sorry. I don’t know.” Saying the words aloud makes it so much more real. Jaejin blinks rapidly, willing himself not to cry. “Mom?”

“It’s okay,” his father says, as his mother gathers him into her arms. “It’s okay, kid.”

They let him stay for a week, until Jaejin’s father tells him that they’re driving him back to Seoul. He has to let this happen. This is just the way life works, sometimes. You can’t force it to become what you want, even if you want it more than anything else in the world.

“I just want to stay in the group,” Jaejin says, voice small, as they’re on the highway on the way back.

His father meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “You’ll be okay, kid,” he tells Jaejin softly, and his mother strokes his hair and tells him to rest. They’ll figure things out soon.

When he gets back, he doesn’t get the ear-lashing he’d expected from the company. Instead, they just tell him (none too gently) that they’ve considered all the members’ contracts, and they’ll be letting him go once the retirement has been announced to the public.

It’s probably as much as he deserves, he thinks.

But—when he makes his way to the room for the meeting, where all the other members are gathered, he’s greeted with shouts of his name, and a blurry object runs headfirst into his arms, taking his breath away.

 _“Oof,”_ Jaejin wheezes, but he doesn’t detach himself from Jaeduck, who’s wrapped around him like a limpet. “Why—?”

“You left and didn’t tell any of us,” Jaeduck whines, and oh, that’s more people that Jaejin hadn’t considered. The absolutely distraught tone in Jaeduck’s voice makes him feel horrible, and he returns the hug. “I was scared, okay? I thought you wouldn’t come back. I thought—I thought we weren’t gonna see you again.”

“Sorry,” Jaejin whispers, and Jaeduck hugs him tighter.

“You made him cry, you know,” comes Jiwon’s voice from across the room. “He fuckin’ bawled his eyes out for like, two whole days. Do that again, and the company won’t be the only one coming after your ass.” He hears Suwon laugh, but he knows well enough that Jiwon’s not joking when he says that.

“Sorry,” Jaejin says, louder this time, for everyone to hear. “I really am.”

“It’s okay,” Jiyong says easily, from where he’s seated next to Sunghoon. Ever the mediator. “We get it.”

Jaeduck finally lets go, but he presses his palms against Jaejin’s face and makes him meet his gaze. “It’s okay,” he echoes, “I don’t want to do this either.”

Jaejin swallows, and nods.

And later, when Jiwon tells him that they’ll still be a part of Sechskies, even if the group’s retired, Jaejin can almost believe him.

It makes him feel a little more whole, at least.

Maybe they’ll really be Sechskies again one day.

Who knows?)

 

 

 

It takes him a few days to realise what he’s painting again.

He’d taken a break from his current project to clear his thoughts, and had ended up setting a smaller piece of canvas on his easel just to get them out of his system. He’d let himself paint whatever came to mind, just brushstrokes upon brushstrokes, until something recognisable began to form.

It takes him a moment, because he’s seen this before. He’s painted this before, some time ago. The man by the window, looking out into the rain. Looking for something. Him, searching for something that doesn’t exist.

His brush stills, and he sets it down.

A woman, looking out of a window. The same table, the same chair. The same bare room—but less bare, this time. There’s a plant in the corner. A mug on the table. A shell, next to it. A soft light on the wall that reminds him of a room from years ago. It’s not as dark, not as gloomy as the first piece—but the skyline is dotted with rain once again, falling over familiar houses and buildings. It’s the cultural village, distinct in its shape and colour.

Jaejin runs a finger over the face of the woman in the painting. She’s turned away, but her side profile is visible, pale even in the shadows of the room. A sharp jaw, a sloping nose. Kind eyes. A smile that isn’t quite a smile. It’s familiar.

It’s the same smile he’d seen across a table in a dumpling restaurant, late in the night, as their fingers curled together. The smile he’d seen, faint in the dark of the night, the waves crashing around their knees.

He exhales, and turns away from the woman that shares an uncanny resemblance with his childhood friend, his group-mate—and meets his professor’s gaze. “I don’t know what’s up with me this month,” he admits. “I keep coming back to this scene.”

His professor’s thoughtful for a moment. “You’ve been letting your desires paint for you,” he eventually says. “It’s something you’ve been trying not to think about for a while, but something happened recently that’s made you do nothing but think about it, now. But… you’re not being completely honest with yourself, which is why the details are different, here. How close am I?”

“Very,” Jaejin says, a little taken aback by how obvious he’s been, and just how perceptive his professor can be. He forgets that, sometimes. “Oh.”

“Mm,” his professor says, and he nods. “She’s pretty.”

Jaejin looks back at the painting again. “Yeah,” he says, a little distractedly. _He is._

He ends up taking the painting home with him.

It sits on his table for a couple of hours while he stares at it over a mug of herbal tea. He’s not sure what to do with it. He’s not even sure why he’d brought it back with him—he just knows that he isn’t keen on anybody else seeing it.

Charles slinks up along his right side, and bumps his head against his knee, meowing.

Jaejin rubs his cat’s head, and says, “What do you think?”

The cat just meows again, flicks his tail, and pads off to his bed.

“Good advice,” Jaejin says. “Thank you.”

Maybe he should just set it on fire.

It’s not that anyone would understand the painting, or even recognise who he’s painted unless they were really looking, but. It’s him on a canvas. It’s his thoughts, his feelings, before he could even recognise them for what they are.

It’s him not being able to reconcile his past and his present.

Jaejin takes the painting and puts it in his closet, along with everything else he’s managed to bury over the past ten years.

 

 

 

They walk up the stairs side by side, the click-clack of their shoes loud against the stone steps.

He’s no stranger to wearing a suit anymore, but he feels tight all over, like string that’s been pulled too taut. Jaejin wants nothing more than to yank off the tie he’s wearing and drop the jacket and pull up his sleeves, but the time and place stop him from doing any of that.

They don’t deserve anything less.

It hadn’t taken them too long to decide when would be the right time to come. It’s only been a couple of weeks since they agreed to come home, to make their visits. They’d taken Jaejin’s car, with Jaeduck taking the wheel first for the drive over.

And, in a strange imitation of the past, they’d only booked one room.

It’s really not like they need to save on costs anymore. They’ve got income. There are more than enough rooms. They could just room separately.

Then again, when the receptionist at the motel had asked them how many rooms they’d wanted, they’d only turned to each other for a fraction of a second, before Jaeduck answered firmly, still holding Jaejin’s gaze, “Just one.”

You could call it tension. Jaejin doesn’t really know what to call it.

Either way, Jaejin hadn’t disagreed.

They’d moved around each other like two people familiar with each other’s habits, each other’s tics. Jaejin taking the right side of the bed, Jaeduck pushing the table a little closer to the window to give Jaejin more space to work out, Jaejin letting Jaeduck have use of the bathroom first, Jaeduck being the last one to turn off the light because he wants to read before bed.

Then again, after all these years, it’d be weird if they didn’t know each other.

Jaejin pulls himself out of his thoughts, and back to reality.

There aren’t too many people here today. A small family, down the hallway. A lonely figure, kneeling by a wall. Flowers, scattered. Photos, everywhere.

And—right there.

There they are.

(“It’s okay,” his father tells him. “It’s okay, kid.”)

Jaejin takes a deep breath, and goes to greet his parents, Jaeduck right beside him.

 

 

 

As they’re walking back to the car, shortly after visiting Jaeduck’s mother, Jaejin nudges Jaeduck in the side, and says, “So. There’s a resemblance, isn’t there?”

There’s an amused look on Jaeduck’s face, despite the fact that he’s just spent the last fifteen minutes wiping at his eyes. He’d teared up almost immediately upon seeing his mother’s photo. Jaejin had just stood there with an arm around his shoulders, holding him up. Being the presence Jaeduck needed, the way Jaeduck had been for him. _Has been._ “What, is Suwon still bringing that up? He’s such a brat.”

“It’s included footage now. Going on the DVD,” Jaejin says. “He’s never going to stop bringing it up.”

Jaeduck laughs lightly. “I’m honoured to even remotely look like someone you love so much.” His words make Jaejin feel some of the tightness in his chest unwind—he’d said ‘love.’ Not ‘loved.’

If there’s one thing Jaejin can’t stand, it’s people believing that you can’t still cherish someone even after they’re gone.

“Thanks, by the way,” Jaeduck adds, smiling, “You always know how to make me laugh.”

“Of course,” Jaejin says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I like seeing you laugh. That’s why I do it.”

Jaeduck hums, and walks a little closer, his arm brushing against Jaejin’s.

There’s joy in Jaeduck’s eyes now, and less grief. _Good,_ thinks Jaejin, feeling content, feeling settled. There’s little more he wants to see these days than Jaeduck being happy.

It makes him happy too.

And, well, isn’t that something?

 

 

 

Back in their room, Jaejin sits on the bed, idly scrolling through something on his phone.

Jaeduck’s in the bathroom, peering into the mirror as he runs a razor along his face. He’d forgotten to shave earlier, before they’d left. “Can’t stand it,” he’d said as he dug into his overnight bag, “whenever I even think about leaving it, I remember the moustache years and shudder a little.”

“Me too,” Jaejin had replied, “I shudder a lot,” and that had earned him a pillow to the head.

Now, Jaejin sets his phone down, and his eyes trail over to where Jaeduck’s standing. The door’s open wide enough for him to see all of Jaeduck, the way he’s leaning with his hip against the sink, the way he holds his razor. The long, lean lines of his body. The care he takes to not accidentally nick himself, movements slow and deliberate.

Jaeduck catches him staring, and raises an eyebrow. “Y’know,” he says casually, _knowingly,_ “the movies always make shaving out to be something sexy. I really don’t see the appeal. There’s just… foam everywhere.”

His mildly disappointed tone makes Jaejin laugh. “Well,” he says, “you can’t see the appeal if it’s just you.”

Both of Jaeduck’s eyebrows shoot up, this time. “Wanna come here and show me, then?” he says, voice dropping slightly lower. Whether intentionally or not, Jaejin doesn’t think he can tell.

He does, however, rise to his feet and walk over to where Jaeduck’s standing.

_You could call it tension._

Jaejin plucks the razor out of Jaeduck’s fingers, and says, “Hold still and tilt your head back a little.” Jaeduck complies easily, eyes on Jaejin as he takes just as much care with the blade as Jaeduck had.

“Still not seeing the appeal,” Jaeduck says.

“A little more. No, the other way.” Jaejin presses two fingers under Jaeduck’s chin, and angles him gently. “Like that.”

He doesn’t pull his fingers away. Jaeduck’s eyes haven’t moved away from him yet, either.

Slowly, Jaejin continues. It’s strange, helping someone else shave. He’s never actually done this before, having to be so much more careful, because he doesn’t know how much pressure to exert. Jaeduck’s breathing steadily, but his fingers are flexing along the edge of the sink, looking for some sort of grip.

“It’s about trust, I suppose,” Jaejin says, as he gets the last bit that Jaeduck hadn’t reached yet. “You don’t know if the other person’s going to do a good job. You just trust that they will.”

He sets the razor down, and, with the hand that’s still tilting Jaeduck’s chin, smooths over Jaeduck’s soft cheek, thumb rubbing at a spot of foam that’s been left on.

“Trust, huh?” Jaeduck’s face is incredibly close to his, Jaejin realises suddenly, when Jaeduck straightens up from where he’d been leaning against the counter. “Goes both ways, I imagine. I trust you not to hurt me. You trust me not to move. Give and take.”

“Something like that.”

Neither of them step back from each other for a long moment.

Then, Jaeduck murmurs, “I see the appeal, now.”

The urge to make the same move as before is strong. He’s close enough this time that he could do it—and he wouldn’t be reading the signs wrong this time, would he? They’re not drunk, they both know exactly what’s going on this time around. Whatever’s happened between them since then has evolved and matured past the point of uncertainty. Jaejin could—Jaejin _should,_  this time it's the right time, but—

He moves away, and out of the bathroom.

Jaeduck’s voice floats out after him. “We should talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

 _“This,”_ Jaeduck says again, but he doesn’t elaborate.

The tap turns on. Water runs.

Jaejin stands at the window, and watches the world pass by.

Then, he says, “Can we go down to the old bridge?”

The red bridge, just one of their many spots. Jaeduck’s not a fan of heights, but he’s never really minded this walkway that stretches out across jagged cliffs and over the sea. They’ve had conversations there before, in the middle of the night, when neither of them could sleep. Talking about leaving home. Talking about making it big.

There’s history, there. Conversations had and made.

He can talk there.

“Sure.” Jaeduck sounds fond, like he’s remembering those days too. “Sure we can.”

 

 

 

They stand on the bridge, watching the tide roll in gently, feeling the breeze caress their faces. Jaejin leans against the railing and feels the mild sway of the bridge beneath his feet. Beside him, Jaeduck’s looking out at the night sky like there’s something to be discovered out there.

It’s odd, Jaejin thinks, there’s something missing.

Then, seeing Jaeduck fidgeting with the end of his scarf, he remembers. “Did you stop smoking?”

“Yeah.” Jaeduck shrugs distractedly. “Decided a little while ago that I’ve still got something to live for. Y’know?”

“I know,” Jaejin says, falling silent as he mulls over Jaeduck’s words for a moment.

Then, Jaeduck goes, “You’ve been on your own for so long.” He glances over at Jaejin. “Why won’t you let anyone take care of you?”

_Because I don’t trust anyone. Because I don’t know how to let anyone in. Because I can’t help but do this on my own. It’s been ten years and I still haven’t been able to tear myself away from the past._

“You have, though,” Jaeduck says, and Jaejin realises that he’s said all those things out loud. “You let me in, at least. I’d like to think you trust me, too.”

I trust you. You trust me. It’s give and take.

Jaejin still doesn’t know what to say. Then, he murmurs, “I don’t want to replace her.”

A weird sound comes from beside him. “You’re not replacing her,” Jaeduck says, sounding a little strangled, a little taken aback, like he can’t believe Jaejin even thinks this. “Jaejin,” he says, and he moves his hand to rest it over Jaejin’s. “Jaejin,” he repeats, softer this time, more understanding, “you can have more than one person in your heart, you know.”

The revelation is shattering. He hadn’t ever really considered it that way before—but he’s right. Why can’t he? He can have all of them: his mother, his father, his sister and her children, the group—and Jaeduck.

He can have Jaeduck too. _Right in here,_ he thinks, placing his other hand over his chest absently. He’s not replacing anyone. He’s not replacing her. He’s still the same ship, sailing the same sea.

He’s just using another anchor.

“Besides,” Jaeduck says, smiling a little, and he curls his hand around Jaejin’s, pulling it off the railing and properly tucking their fingers together, warm and perfectly fitting. “You’re already in mine, anyway.”

Jaejin swallows hard, and turns to Jaeduck, still holding his hand.

Jaeduck looks right back at him, hair slightly ruffled by the mild wind, his scarf tucked around his neck and pulled up around his chin, his eyes knowing and patient. I’m right here, his expression seems to say. _Take all the time you need. I’ve waited. I’ll keep waiting._

He doesn’t have to wait anymore.

“Let me take care of you,” Jaeduck whispers, and it’s not just a request.

It’s a promise.

And now—all the weight’s been lifted off his chest, the same weight that’s been suffocating him for ten years.

He squeezes Jaeduck’s hand tightly. “Okay,” he says, “I will.”

Above them, the moon shines bright. The waves crash against the rocky cliffs.

The night is cold, but Jaejin hasn’t felt this warm in years.

 

 

 

(The day before he leaves to Busan, he’s still uncertain. Unsure what will happen once they’re there. It’s not that this hasn’t happened before: him, spending a few days alone with Jaeduck. Maybe more than a few days, like the first time around, when they’d seen each other in a new light. It’s more of the fact that he’s getting closer to what he’s been looking for this entire time, and it scares him just a little.

The painting taunts him, from where it’s sitting in the back of his closet.

Jaejin makes a decision.

He takes the painting, tears it in half, and throws it in the trash.

The rain, the shadows, the person who isn’t the right one. None of those are for him. None of those are the right things anymore. None of those say anything about who he is, what he feels. Not anymore.

Jaejin feeds the cat, packs his things, takes out the trash, and goes to sleep dreaming of the sound of the ocean.)

 

 

 

The motel room they return to is much less chilly. Jaejin shuts the door behind them and immediately drops his damp jacket on the floor, stretching his frozen limbs. The urge to climb into bed and just curl up in his cosy blanket is strong, but he holds out, waiting to see what Jaeduck wants to do—what Jaeduck _will_ do.

Across the room, Jaeduck strips off his coat too, and takes off his shoes, his socks, his trousers. It’s methodical, the slow, steady way he drapes them all neatly across the back of a chair.

He’s down to just his shirt and boxers when he sits down on the bed and looks up at Jaejin, who’s still just standing there, the uncertainty on the verge of making his throat seize up.

“C’mere,” Jaeduck says, voice soft but accented with their hometown tinge, rough but soothing all the same. All the tension in Jaejin’s body unravels. “Jaejin, c’mon.”

He goes, doing the same as Jaeduck, removing pieces of clothing but haphazardly leaving them strewn across the floor in the places he’d stepped, until he reaches the bed, knees awkwardly knocking the edge of the mattress.

Jaeduck pats the bed, and Jaejin slides onto it, feeling exposed even though they’ve seen each other in even more revealing situations than this one. He can’t look up for some reason. Everything has now come to a head—the last few years, their words by the sea, the way Jaeduck circles his wrist with two careful fingers, tugging him closer.

“Jaejin,” Jaeduck says once more, and he raises his free hand to run his fingers through Jaejin’s hair soothingly, fingertips scraping gently across his scalp, before sliding down to cup his jaw. Jaejin leans right into the touch, eyes falling shut. He feels, rather than hears, the soft exhale of breath that Jaeduck lets out, against his jaw. “Can I?”

He can’t do anything other than nod, just the most minute of movements, because he’s afraid that if he moves too much he’ll have Jaeduck touching less of him—and all of a sudden, he just wants to feel all of Jaeduck against him, wants to have his hand against more than just his face, wants to touch him the same way Jaeduck is touching him too, and—

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Jaeduck says, his amusement evident in his voice, apparent even without Jaejin seeing it. “Stop.”

“I just—” Jaejin breathes. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I know what _I_ want,” Jaeduck tells him, and at that, Jaejin finally open his eyes to find that Jaeduck’s face is barely centimetres away from his. Their noses are almost touching. This close, Jaejin can almost count every single one of Jaeduck’s lashes, long and sweeping under his kind eyes.

Jaeduck brushes his thumb across Jaejin’s cheek, a smudged fingerprint. Like a once-made mark on a train window, or a motel bathroom mirror, or the curve of a soju bottle. Not temporary, like those. Rather, permanent in the way it seems to mean something that Jaejin hasn’t had in a long time.

 _I’m here,_ it says. _Not just passing through. Not just passing by._

“I wanna kiss you,” Jaeduck whispers. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Jaejin says, eyes falling shut again, and the space between them withers away into nothing as Jaeduck pulls him closer—but Jaeduck doesn’t kiss him on the mouth.

Instead, he feels hands on either side of his face, angling him down slightly, and he’s about to make a confused sound when he feels Jaeduck press his lips to his forehead. He moves to kiss one eyelid tenderly, and then the other, and Jaejin’s voice catches in his chest, not daring to rise as Jaeduck presses another kiss to the bridge of his nose, catching the tip as he goes down, and finally, _finally—_ he coaxes their mouths together, and Jaejin can _breathe._

Jaeduck’s lips are chapped from the brittle weather. Jaejin licks at the bow of his upper lip and tastes the salt of the ocean waves on his tongue. It’s familiar and foreign all at the same time, making him shiver. He nudges against Jaeduck’s cheek with his nose, murmuring for him to give him a little more, and Jaeduck indulges him, parting his mouth to let the kiss deepen.

Inhale, exhale. Jaejin’s hot all over, feeling like he’s been running at full speed. The push-and-pull between them is comfortable, easy, makes Jaejin feel like he’s done this with Jaeduck before when they haven’t. When they’d only just come close, last time.

He lifts a hand, touches Jaeduck’s shoulder, runs his fingers along the line of his clavicle, down his chest, up his neck. He feels Jaeduck’s pulse, erratic, mirroring his. He feels Jaeduck’s warmth, and it makes him want to move closer, to feel that same warmth all along his own body.

They part for breath, and the soft, smacking sound their lips make when they separate sends a thrill down Jaejin’s spine. His eyes open to see Jaeduck’s gaze on him, cheeks flushed pink. His mouth is wet, a little red. _He did that._ Jaejin made him look like that.

“Was that okay?” Jaeduck asks, words slurry, sounding almost a little drunk. “Talk to me.”

“More than okay,” Jaejin answers, feeling the way Jaeduck sounds. He kisses Jaeduck again, and Jaeduck makes a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat, winding his arms around Jaejin’s shoulders, and leaning back until he falls onto the bed, with Jaejin right on top of him.

Jaeduck’s eyes flick downwards, along the length of Jaejin’s body, and then up again. “Jaejin,” he murmurs, his intent and want obvious behind each syllable, “is this okay?”

There’s so much trust in his eyes, expression completely open. He’s the one who’s asking Jaejin if he’s alright, when he’s the one putting so much faith in Jaejin, the one who’s giving him all of this and asking for so little in return.

The one who picked up all the pieces, and instead of putting them back together, he handed them to Jaejin to do it himself.

Jaejin lets go.

“Yes,” he says, and he bends down to touch, to feel, to give him all of him.

Jaejin finally lets go, and lets himself fall in love with Kim Jaeduck, under the dim light of a motel room, by the sea in Busan, in the midst of a winter’s night.

 

 

 

It’s the first time in a long time that he’s let one of the other members come in here (then again, Jaeduck’s not just ‘one of the other members’ anymore, is he). But, it’s important. It’s more than just showing him around. There’s something he needs to do today, something he’s been putting off for a number of months now, since they’d come back to Seoul.

“Whoa,” Jaeduck says, glancing around the room, “there’s way more stuff in here than the last time you’d let us come visit.”

“Been busy working,” Jaejin says. “Been busy getting better.”

Jaeduck smiles, the flash of an old memory passing between them, and he moves to appraise several of the paintings propped up along the walls. “Hey, it’s Charles,” he comments idly, stroking the edge of one of them. “I remember seeing him in here with you on your V-Live. That was really cute. He was still so small then.”

“It was Bring Your Pet To Art School Day,” Jaejin says, walking over to a shelf, and pulling back a cloth that’s draped over a canvas. “Come over here for a moment.”

Jaeduck obliges, and moves to see what Jaejin’s picked up. “What’s—” he starts, but he falls silent when Jaejin lifts another painting off an easel, and sets this one on it instead. “Oh,” Jaeduck murmurs, eyes a little wide. Jaejin’s heart won’t stop thumping hard in his chest. “You painted this?”

It’s not an unfamiliar scene. It’s one that Jaejin’s seen many times in his dreams, in reality.

It’s one that Jaejin’s set into permanence, paint on canvas, brush-stroke after brush-stroke. A completeness that isn’t merely present here, but within him as well.

A room with a view. A man, standing by the window. There isn’t any darkness, but only the lightest of shadows, far away from the figure. There’s a table and a chair. A shell and a ceramic mug with a brush in it, on the table. The man is smiling, expression soft, eyes content, lashes long. It’s Jaeduck, and he looks happy. He looks content.

It’s all colour, colour and light and an easiness that had been missing from the first two he’d painted.

Outside, through the window, the skies are bright, sunny.

Busan smiles right back at him.

“Yes,” Jaejin says, stepping closer to curl his fingers over Jaeduck’s wrist. “I want you to have it.”

“You’re giving it to me?” Jaeduck looks stunned. “But—you _never_ give your art away.”

“I’m not giving it away,” Jaejin rushes to explain, “I just want you to keep it safe for me.”

There isn’t much he can say. The words he wants to use aren’t words he thinks he can say, but this is the way he can make them known.

His art is a part of his heart. And, that’s what he wants Jaeduck to keep.

Jaeduck’s expression changes, and there’s something in his eyes that Jaejin wishes he could take down with a brush too, just so that he can hold onto it forever. Something wonderful. Something kind. Something that looks a lot like love.

“Oh,” he says, sounding so earnest, so grateful, that Jaejin thinks the tight feeling in his chest might just burst into a million sparks. Jaeduck pulls his hand back a little, and for the tiniest moment Jaejin thinks he’s going to say no—but Jaeduck grabs his hand, and threads their fingers together warmly. “Jaejin.”

“Just—” Jaejin swallows hard. “Just promise me you’ll keep it safe. For as long as you can.”

“Okay,” Jaeduck says gently, leaning into him, his presence stable, comforting. “Okay. I can do that.”

_I’ll keep your heart safe for as long as it’s still beating._

“Good,” Jaejin whispers, and he kisses Jaeduck, slow and sweet. “That’s good.”

 

 

 

(He’s not just passing through. Not just passing by.

Now, he just _is._ )

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i love prompts, talking about ships & crying over 1st gen artists! 
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/KAMSANGl) (i have finally been released from shadowban hell) or the sechskies discord
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> ✧✧✧
> 
> references:  
> \- [essays in love](http://alaindebotton.com/essays-in-love/)  
> \- part of the dialogue from the concert scene is from the yellow note final dvd  
> \- jj does the painty painty on [sechskies' vlive](http://channels.vlive.tv/EFA1F1), & here is him with [charles](https://twitter.com/s6angels/status/797881078446845952?lang=en) as a visual aid (so cute)  
> \- (on that note, not really a reference but jd [went home after mudo with the stars still in his hair](https://twitter.com/wow_jaeduck/status/828835038091411456) and it was adorable)  
> \- jj talks about his hardships in radio star ep. 480.


End file.
